


Soul, Here I Lie

by Kameiko



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hallucinations, Hope, Mental Health Issues, Personal hell, Priests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 19:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16687498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kameiko/pseuds/Kameiko
Summary: Matt takes on the role as the leading priest of St. Patrick's Cathedral in honor of Father Lantom's last message of hope.Hope is spreading to the people within the church without a problem, but not to the one leader who needs it the most.FulfilledPrompt!





	Soul, Here I Lie

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any franchises, products, and characters mentioned in this story. My work is purely for everybody's enjoyment, and I would like to keep it that way. Having ownership over all this that requires contracts and other lawful fruitfulness is just too much responsibility. I am not ready for that kind of work, nor does my massive paycheck of $0.00 show for it in the world of fanfiction.
> 
> I pray that everyone enjoys this story! Its been a blast writing it! Now, I take my leave and fly away into the clouds!

Today is Sunday. The day of worship and relaxation for the citizens of Hell’s Kitchen. The first Sunday Wilson Fisk has been kept behind bars and without bail. The first Sunday where Matt can properly take a deep breath, adjust the sleeves of his priest robe, and do the sign of the cross in a repeated motion to remind himself why he’s here. He’s here to carry on Father Lantom’s legacy and everything he’s ever stood for, with the help of the sisters; especially, from his overly strained mother, Maggie. At first she didn’t want Matt to come here just to carry on an old man’s legacy, and admits she rather see him outside saving the city as Daredevil. She believes the lather is God’s calling, and this is just a cry of agonizing guilt over the loss of someone really important to both of them.

Maggie is leaning against the door frame with her arms across her chest, still in disbelief and Matt can hear the disappointment. “Matthew…is this really something you want to do? You know you can’t, and I don’t mean just because of your identity.”

“I am going to do this regardless of what you say or do to convince me that my hands are too unclean for this.” Matt adjusts the top part of his robe, trying to get it straightened out. Maggie comes over and fixes it for him, he’s grateful but doesn’t express it. Not yet anyways, he’ll show his appreciation when he shows her and everyone else that this church is not some victimized building due to the awful people in the world that let money and corrupted mob bosses get the better of them. It’s a refreshing taste that things are finally turning around, and no one has to worry about watching their backs wondering when the next mugging or kidnapping is going to happen by one of Fisk’s men.

Maggie tithes at that comment. “Matthew, that’s not what I meant. I am…well, it’s not easy watching you do this. I never thought I see this day that you would…”

“That I would what?” Matt goes over to the center altar table, stretches out the cloth on it, getting out all the wrinkles. Everything has to be neat for the Eucharist to be stared at. The shiny golden chalice in the middle with the same color crucifix holding Jesus on it is shimmering nicely due to the stained glass window of Mary behind them shining a bright light upon it. Yes, today is going to be a great day for mass as God is already showing him his mercy for happiness. Something Matt and Maggie desperately need at this time.

Maggie excuses herself for a bit, she’s going to the flower shop to get some freshly cut flowers to put on the altar, so that it can give off a bit more of a natural shine other than a man-made golden one. Matt gives her a nod, goes to one of the cabinets in the back to get the bottle of “wine” also known as fruit juice out. The kids love this stuff when they come up to the front for their Sunday communion, thinking they’re going to get drunk off the blood of Christ when it’s just fruit punch flavored _Kool-Aide_. He thinks the kids are amusing. Just like that one time last week when he caught one of the orphans sneaking in here looking for the punch to show off to his friends, showing them how much of a bass he is. Matt let him take the bottle. The kids, of course, didn’t get drunk, but rather high on a sugar rush, keeping Sister Maggie and the rest of the staff busy for the remainder of the day, chasing them around threatening to spank them with the right hand of God. They never did get punished, the sisters were too tired at that point. The kids ended up punishing themselves when they didn’t get their waffles made by Maggie in the morning. Truly though, these kids are some of the kindest ones out there and so good to everyone in the church by helping them to their seats, and something Matt wants to make sure they keep the good parts of themselves intact.

_How can you think that knowing that you used someone to do your own dirty red work, much like mine?_

Matt stops what he’s doing. Hands clutching onto the bottle tightly, making his fingers turn a different color. He turns behind him to see if…he’s…here. No, he’s not there. He can’t be. His demons have long been put away, he made sure that the demons are behind bars, where he can’t let them hurt anymore innocent people on the outside ever again. He turns back around, dropping the bottle of grape juice on the floor, causing it to break into pieces. The man in white is back, his hallucination of Wilson Fisk is back. Why? Why is he holding a bottle of fruit juice, examining it like it’s something he remembered from a long time ago when he would just be a normal kid for a change, and just enjoy the simple pleasures of life when his father didn’t make him stare at walls for hours on end. This is what Matt likes to think.

_Your perception of me is misplaced. I didn’t drink this out of comfort of what little childhood I had. We had conformity around my side of the street, you knew this already. No, juice boxes I would steal as a kid I would take them, stomp on them, and pretend it’s the blood of my father’s and the kids I take them from I would imagine they were my father or my mother. Everyone is equally treated to my taste of chaotic home life. You knew this already from reading it in the paper from a long time ago. Why would you alternate that story in your head?_

“You’re not real.” Matt goes to the cleaning supplies closet and gets the stain remover out. He goes back to where the mess is with the supplies to find Fisk standing on it with a glass of fruit juice in a wine glass in his hand. He’s taking slow sips and refusing to move.

_You have the power to move me with just a simple thought in your mind but you choose not to. Funny, how one’s mind tends to perceive what they really need to think. What do you want to think? You’re not that easy of a book to read when you stand there with a cold and dead expression. Did you see the ones on the bodies Agent Poindexter killed? After you let him go on ahead, so you had an easier time to reach me?_

Fisk leaves the stain, tracking juice with him. He stands behind the altar, arms stretched out, and he screams. Screams at his audience to rejoice and build the legacy that Matt is about to throw at them. A legacy that’s only going to get up in bloodshed and more violence when the next enemy arrives! One where he’ll be forced to go back as Daredevil and abandon his vow of priesthood. An invisible clap from the audience erupts, Fisk takes the standing ovation to heart, spilling the rest of his drink down the steps. Matt listens to the spill. It’s stopping, and mixing with blood from the innocence of one ghost that decided to fall over just to die. Screams roaring out in the dark asking him why he would choose to live this way and stand by watching them get stabbed by projectile bibles and rosaries. He covered his ears, refusing to listen to the haunting of his guilt.

_I am the only one who can make you become who you truly are. Being the protector of Hell’s Kitchen within these walls will not save anyone. These people here will only feel like they have a moment’s peace before going back out there into the bad world not knowing that the devil of Hell’s Kitchen abandoned them for some entity that he isn’t even sure if exists. That’s where your thoughts come in. Just think about Father Lantom and the place he resides in, nothingness. He doesn’t exist in the afterlife. You lost your faith in God, so your faith makes you a non-believer and the void is the only fulfilling thing in your heart._

“You’re wrong about a part of that. Yes, some part of me believes that there is no heaven for anyone and we just go back to the dust, but I am not afraid of it nor am I afraid of my own personal demons. I intent to leave my mark on this world by leaving it with a fire of hope.” Matt stands right in front of Fisk. He’s not intimidated by his height or appearance. He takes his hands and starts pushing at Fisk’s chest. Making the hallucination falter, glass falling to the ground, shattering, and the ghost audience gasps and start to whisper to one another. He keeps pushing, letting out a small scream after every push till a giant one releases from his throat and he pushes the hallucination down the steps, hearing it land on its back with a sickening crack. The pews all grow quiet.

Maggie comes back with some beautiful bouquets of white lilies. She puts them down when she sees Matt on his knees. She quickly comes over, arms out stretched around Matt’s shoulders. He doesn’t bother to push her away, he’s doing his best to wipe away the tears from his eyes and wetness on his face. Maggie is telling him to take a few deep breaths and just breathe in and out while rubbing circles on his back the way a mother should comfort their son. He closes his eyes, stands up along with his mother, and goes to the center of the altar. The ghosts have their arms crossed, their shadows are darkened by the fog, and they’re waiting for Matt to give them his own personal sermon.

“I don’t answer to the demands of my own ghosts.” Matt takes the crucifix on the table and holds it out to them, a symbolic burning exorcism to get rid of them for good or temporarily. Whenever his mind wants to mess with him again, which is probably soon. He can hear Fisk clapping for an encore in the back of his head. The clapping doesn’t ease up but the ghosts burn out, cursing at Matt for taking away their life. He sets the cross down, giving the sign in prayer, thanking Jesus for landing a hand.

Maggie watches the whole scene with a confused expression. She’s about to say something till the doors of the church open, people are starting to pour in, taking their seats with joy, picking up the pamphlets Maggie and Matt laid around talking about mental health awareness and how the people suffering can help themselves. Matt came up with the idea when Fisk came to him after he put on the cloth a while ago for training purposes. He thinks that when prayer is not enough and God is wanting the people to seek help, this is what he had in mind. Maggie is glad that Matt thought of this, she knows she wouldn’t have with her worrying about what Matt is truly not doing for the good of the city. Hopefully after this sermon and the days coming forward she is proved wrong on all levels and she is. A few Sunday’s later a young woman came up to Matt and told him about how he saved her life with the pamphlet guiding her in the right direction of receiving help from her doctor recommending her to a psychiatrist to get treatment. Matt is thankful for what she said to him, and invited her to the counseling area in the building next door, so she can tell him the rest of her story. Maggie quirks an eyebrow at that. She’s glad for the girl, and maybe Matt’s help here is not so bad. She knows when the time comes he’ll need to go back out into the city as a vigilante and help the people, but for now, she’s glad to have been proven wrong. 

 


End file.
